Trust
by Authoressinhiding
Summary: Post-"Chosen".  Faith has a few things to say before she leaves the States. oneshot


**Disclaimer: Once again I must remind you, dear reader, that I own nothing. As a matter of fact, I also pwn nothing, thanks to my Intro to Proofs homework just successfully kicked my posterior. **

* * *

The dark-haired young woman stared at the abandoned hotel for several long minutes, lost in thoughts. She toyed with the zipper on her leather jacket, toes busy curling and uncurling inside her thick boots. Finally she steeled herself and went in. She walked into the lobby, heading for the reception desk.

"Hey, gang." Her voice was low and husky.

Four people jumped, and four pairs of startled eyes fixed on the visitor.

"Faith." Wesley got up and rushed out from behind the desk. "Is anything wrong in Sunnydale?"

Faith laughed, a sharp, harsh, humorless bark that rang out across the quiet room. "Guess you missed the memo, Wes. There is no more SunnyD. Got blown up two days ago."

"You all right, princess?" asked Lorne in concern.

"Couple of bumps and bruises," Faith shrugged. "But hey, I'm alive." _Which is more than I can say for some of the rest of them._ She exchanged greetings with Fred and Gunn, then turned to her old Watcher. "Where's the big man, Wes? Brooding again?"

Wesley nodded, unsurprised. "In his room. We've had a rather, er, interesting week."

"Join the club. You can be vice president." With a quick wave, she strode to the stairs and took them two at a time.

Gunn waited until she was out of sight to speak. "Wonder what that's all about."

Lorne gazed at the stairs where Faith had disappeared, his eyes distant and calculating. "I'm not sure, but that girl is all worked up over something."

"The destruction of Sunnydale," Wes said quietly. "Some of her friends probably died. The good side doesn't come through apocalypses unscathed."

"We remember." Gunn thought of Cordelia.

"Um, guys, don't you think it could be something else?" wondered Fred cautiously. "I mean, what if Faith and Angel . . . you know." Blushing, she made a gesture with her hands.

"They wouldn't." Lorne was shocked. "Would they?"

"They better not." Gunn froze. "Should I go check the cage?"

"That won't be necessary. Faith and Angel aren't that stupid." Wesley frowned. "At least, I hope not."

* * *

Faith arrived outside room 217. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door, then went in without waiting for an invite. She found Angel sprawled on his bed, watching some ancient movie on the TV and chugging away at a thermos of blood like there was no tomorrow.

"For the last time, Wesley, I've made a decision, and that's final!" He looked up. "Oh . . . Faith, it's you."

"In the flesh." Faith flopped on the bed next to him. "Made a final decision, eh? And _what_ are you watching?"

Flustered, Angel sat up quickly, set his blood on the nightstand, and muted the television. "It's _Some Like It Hot_," he muttered, somewhat embarrassed. "With Jack Lemmon and Marilyn Monroe. It's great. These two orchestra players get mixed up in a mob accident, so they pretend to be girls and join a women's orchestra to get out of town. One of them cops a Cary Grant accent and tries to woo Marilyn Monroe. The other has an old billionaire fall in love with him while he's in drag. The last lines are killer."

Faith was not impressed. She looked at the movie for a second, then turned back to Angel. "Black-and-white movies and Barry Manilow? I see why Angelus hates you."

"Thanks for the support, Faith. What brings you here? Something wrong with Buffy?" he asked almost hopefully. "Need me to help with any apocalypse-type stuff?"

"No and no. B's just fine – we're all taking off for Europe tomorrow morning, by the way. 10:20 from Los Angeles International. Scoobies, Slayers, everyone. Hope I don't get sick on the plane. Sunnydale's just a big hole in the ground now. Nah, I just came for a long talk."

Intrigued, Angel raised an eyebrow. "Talk."

And so Faith did. She told him everything: the Slayer leadership crisis, activating the Potentials, the final battle – everything. She talked about what she thought and how she felt, how there was finally a tentative peace between the original Slayers, the fact that Anya, Amanda, Spike, and so many others were dead. Mixed in with Angel's professed grief for Spike was a taste of glee and a hint of confusion.

"Guess it's just me and Dru left," he reflected to himself.

The Slayer looked at him askance, and kept on talking. She spoke until her throat grew dry and her voice croaked. "Blood," she finished hoarsely. "Blood everywhere. On everyone. I don't get it, Angel. Why does there have to be so much death?"

He sighed and picked up his blood. Sipping from the neon blue thermos contemplatively, the vampire replied simply, "I don't have an answer to that. Just the way of the world, I suppose. If it makes you feel better, I had a bad week myself."

"Oh?" Faith sat up and rearranged herself so that she was facing him. "Your turn for show and tell, then."

With a faint smile, Angel began. He explained about Cordelia and Connor, Jasmine and her world peace agenda, Wolfram & Hart and their latest offer. Angel confessed the goodbyes he'd never wanted to say and the choices he never thought he'd have to make. Faith listened throughout, her eyes locked on his face. When he ran out of words, she sat with him in silence, searching for the right thing to say.

"You should go see Cordelia," she said at last. "Even if she's in a coma – hey, especially if she's in a coma. That way, when she wakes up, she'll know she wasn't forgotten. She'll know she has friends who care about her." Faith thought back to another brunette, another coma, and swallowed hard. "You need to visit Cordelia. It's important."

"I will." Angel realized Faith wasn't just talking about Cordelia, and he purposefully changed the subject. "What else did you want to talk about?"

"I'm sorry for trying to kill you." Faith had a gift for being blunt.

"Which time?" He was almost teasing. "The first time we met, the time you shot me with a poisoned arrow, or three years ago when Wolfram & Hart hired you as an assassin? I still think I'm worth more than fifteen thousand."

"Pfft. More like ten." She sobered. "I'm sorry for all three. Especially the arrow. That was one hell of a shot, though."

Angel had to laugh at the wistful look on the girl's face. "That it was. Good thing you've dropped the 'Let's kill Angel' business."

"Yep. Oh, I had one more question." Faith got up off the bed and crossed to the other side of the room. Twisting her hands, she wondered, "Why did Angelus want to turn me?"

The vampire froze. "What do you mean, turn you?"

Faith met his gaze intently. "You know exactly what I mean. He told me I was just like him. I said I wasn't, not anymore. I'd changed. Then he grabbed me and said I would be."

"When was this?"

"Right before he opened up a keg of Slayer blood and we all took a trip down memory lane. Why, Angel? Why wasn't killing me enough for him?"

Stony-faced, Angel didn't answer.

"Was I going to be the next Drusilla?" she demanded quietly. "'Cause he wouldn't have had to work hard to drive me insane. I need to know. There's never been so much as a peep of Angelus trying to change Buffy. Come on, Angel. What made me different to him? I know he's in there, deep down where no one but you can hear him. Ask him. Ask him why. Why did he want to turn me?"

Angel drew a deep, shuddering breath out of habit. "It's a mess of reasons. First, Faith, the idea of you as a vampire is truly terrifying to those of us who know what you're capable of. Second, Angelus knew it would distract Wes and the gang and whoever else came to stop us – I mean you two." He shook his head to clear it. "Third, I think he was bored. Angelus wanted a new game, something else to torment and destroy. Fourth . . ."

"Fourth?" she pressed, hanging on his every word. "Fourth, Angel?"

He exhaled slowly, another old habit. "Fourth, because Angelus know that I care about you, and there's nothing he likes so much as to destroy the things I love."

Faith raised her eyebrows and rocked back on her heels as this sank in. Abruptly, she announced, "I'm hungry. I'm going downstairs to find something to eat." She turned and walked swiftly to the door.

"Faith."

She paused, her hand on the doorknob. "I'll be right back. I promise."

* * *

It was a long ten minutes of soul-searching, hunting for popcorn, and screaming angrily at the microwave before Faith returned. Her face carefully blank, she set the bowl of popcorn down on the table. Then she looked at Angel. He was watching her, a strange look in his dark eyes. Suddenly the vampire moved to her side. Placing his hands on Faith's leather-clad shoulders, Angel leaned down and kissed her.

Faith pushed him away, horrified.

"Faith." Angel was wildly confused. "Faith, I lo–"

"Don't." Her brown eyes turned the demand into a desperate plea. Faith went up on her tiptoes and returned the kiss. It was utterly unlike anything Angel had expected, soft and slow and sad. After a long moment, Faith stepped back, brushing her hair away from her face. "Don't."

Angel stared at her. He didn't understand. "Why?"

The young woman shivered but looked him dead in the eye. "I trust you."

Faith willed him to hear what she couldn't say. To her, romance, love, and sex were fleeting. You loved a guy, and then he left you. Or you left him. Or maybe it was never love in the first place, just two people releasing energy or trying to find an escape or searching for a way to fill the emptiness inside. Trust, on the other hand, meant something. It was rare and precious and worth saving at all costs. One thing Faith was sure of – love and trust did not go hand in hand. Love destroyed trust – or maybe Faith had never really learned to love. But she wasn't willing to risk it.

"I know." Angel wrapped his arms around her and kissed her gently on the forehead. Faith closed her eyes and leaned into the embrace. He understood. All was well.

Finally they separated. Faith straightened her shirt unnecessarily, looking down at the floor.

"So," the vampire smiled to relieve the tension. "Turner Classic Movies is having a Bob Hope/Bing Crosby _Road_ movie marathon. Want to watch?"

She regarded him skeptically. "Another one of your black-and-white flicks?"

"Probably." He had that adorable puppy dog look on his face. Faith wondered vaguely where he'd gotten it. If he'd had it as a human, no wonder Darla had been attracted to him.

"Okay. Sure." With a slight smile, Faith grabbed her popcorn.

Grinning, Angel got a packaged pint of blood out of the mini-fridge.

"Human?" she queried, settling herself comfortably on the bed and munching on a handful of popcorn.

"After the day I've had, I deserve it." He drank half the blood in one go, then reached over and commandeered some of Faith's popcorn.

"Watch it!" Faith moved the popcorn into her lap. "Stay away from the buttery starchy goodness, buddy."

Angel snorted and turned the television on. He jumped onto the bed, sending popcorn exploding out of the bowl. Glaring, the Slayer mimed staking him. Angel simply laughed. "Oh, look! _The Road to Morocco_ is just starting. Yes! We have excellent timing."

Faith blinked at him. Sometimes Angel was delighted by the strangest things.

Five minutes into the Hope/Crosby extravaganza, the girl made her first comment. "Angel, you have the weirdest taste in movies. What the . . . Are they playing Patty cake?"

Ten minutes passed before another comment burst out. "I don't get it. Why are they singing?" Then, "Angel, have you ever ridden a camel?"

This time he had to answer. "Yes. One time Darla and I decided to go to a circus."

"Did you like it?" Faith had never been to a circus.

"Oh, yes." Angel grinned, and a touch of Angelus shone through. "We massacred the circus troupe and the entire audience. It was a night to remember."

Eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline, Faith just looked at him.

"Er, hrm, um . . . so when is your flight tomorrow?" he asked to distract her.

"10:20."

Angel glanced at the digital clock on top of the VCR. "Faith, it's one in the morning. Shouldn't you be . . ."

"Giles promised to send Andrew to pick me up when it was time to leave." Faith tossed more popcorn into her mouth. "Unless you want me gone?"

"No. Of course not."

Faith smiled at him and went back to frowning at the TV as she struggled to understand Bob Hope humor.

Two _Road_ movies and five bags of popcorn later, Angel looked back at the clock. It was four-thirty. Faith was fast asleep, her body curled against his, her head pillowed on his chest. Angel stroked her hair gently, glancing back and forth between the television and the sleeping girl as he reached for the last handful of popcorn.

It wasn't perfect, but it was happiness. And that was good enough for Angel.

_Fin._

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A/N: I wanted to write a F/A fic, but the more I thought about it, the more this came to mind. Review?**


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